To Settle a Score
by Thirteen Ravens
Summary: Harry felled the Dark Lord earlier that day but now he's out to settle a final, far more personal grudge. One friend, however, is desperate to stop him before it is too late. A realistic Snape & Hermione fic with NO added fluff or sugar.
1. To Settle a Score

"HARRY...NO!!"

The splashes of rainfall falling from a heavy slate sky were suddenly illuminated by a terrible arc of red light. Wandless and out of breath, Hermione clattered to a halt just as her friend's furiously screamed curse hit the sodden black shadow diving to reach for his wand.

She was too late.

The man's horrible shriek cut through her. His outstretched arm went stiff and clawlike as the hex of a hundred knives sliced mercilessly into his body.

Hermione cried out in horror, and made to start forward only to be pulled roughly back by a strong grip on her arm. She looked back at her friend for a moment. His face was twisted in hatred and loathing, his eyes bright and terrible. It frightened her to see him like this. Her friend, Harry Potter, the boy who had just rid the world of the Dark Lord. A hero, technically.

He was a free man as from tonight, the scar had vanished, his duty accomplished. But still Harry thought he had a final score to settle. An old score; to settle years of bullying, and avenge his parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore…

Behind them the man was still writhing on the ground, although more sluggishly. He was almost certainly bleeding to death.

His mouth twisting, Harry went to raise his wand again.

"No Harry! Stop!" she shrilled, frantically grabbing at his arm. "Please - there's no need for this. It's over. It's all over!"

"GERROFF ME HERMIONE!"

It happened in a second. She would regret it later, but being wandless it was the only thing she could think of doing.

Harry bellowed with pain as his friend kneed him hard, and he doubled over hissing, wilting to the ground.

In a few seconds Hermione had snatched his wand and had thrown herself beside the fallen man. He had stopped moving now, and lay on his back, his eyes shut and expression vacant. For a horrible moment Hermione froze as she thought she was too late, until he suddenly drew another gasping breath, and began shuddering again.

This seemed to bring her out of her shock. With a trembling hand she flung back the torn robes to reveal a shredded white undershirt that was almost completely sodden and red. Holding back a gasp of dismay she tore it open.

She stared, wide-eyed and unblinking at the damage to his torso, her face tinging sickly pale with horror. She pulled the shirt back further, only to have more hot blood leak out onto her hand.

It was the warmth of the blood that made her feel suddenly so cold, heat from a man who they had always assumed to have veins of ice. It was almost like a bitter irony, the walking contradiction that he was. Biting her lip she shakingly raised the wand, and hoped to hell she could remember the whole of the healing incantation.

_"I call upon the healing power of nature to heal thee,  
I call upon the healing power of nature to lessen thy pain,  
I call upon the healing power of nature to mend thy bones,  
I call upon the healing power of nature to restore thy vigor,  
I call upon the healing power of nature to close thy wound,  
By the healing power of nature thou art healed." _

She sang it again and again and again, repeatedly tracing the wand down his body, her gaze never once leaving his face. She noted he had stopped shuddering but his skin was steadily turning greyer and more ashen.

The rain was still falling from the skies, a dank and miserable Winter afternoon, colourless. The rain fell directly on the injured man's face, rolling over his nose and running across his cheeks like tears. He did not notice. It soaked through Hermione's hair, plastering it in strings down each side of her face. She did not notice.

After a while the terrible gashes shrank to cuts, and weren't closing any further. Hermione paused to cast a cleaning spell, her breath pluming out in the cold air.

Just then there was a horrible shuddering gasp. Snape's head jerked back, and his eyes snapped open. Hermione jolted and watched with wide-eyed shock as the man's entire body shuddered in a powerful spasm, and then just as suddenly and abruptly relaxed into deathly stillness.

Severus Snape had stopped breathing.

All inhibitions lost now, Hermione leaned forwards over him, her hands gripping his shoulders in desperation, her eyes frantically searching his ashen face for evidence of life.

_"NO!"_

"He shouldn't have invented the fucking curse if he didn't want anyone to use it on him!" snarled a voice from behind her.

Hermione cried out again, the first sob of pure anguish breaking free.

"I want my wand back too, now he's dead," added Harry coldly.

Hermione was aware of Harry's hand pulling at her arm, and she was at once on the defensive. Whipping round with a cry of rage she pointed Harry's own wand directly at him.

"Don't you dare touch me, or him!" she shrilled, eyes flashing wildly, a cornered animal.

Harry blinked and stepped back in alarm, his hands up. "Woah. Hermione, what's the bloody matter with you!?!"

Hermione let out a bitter, almost hysterical laugh. "Oh Harry, can't you guess? _Haven't you ever even thought…!_?"

Harry stared back at his friend numbly, his hands slowly lowering back to his sides.

"I…I, knew you used to defend him a lot, always believed he was good. But…"

Harry watched as pain twisted Hermione's features again, and she turned away. He watched as she knelt over Snape, watched her as she gently swept back his rain-soaked fringe with a trembling hand.

And then, Harry watched with a thrill of pure horror as his friend gingerly lowered her face and pressed her lips to the older mans' ashen forehead.

_It had to be the trauma of losing Ron. It must be due to losing Ron,_ thought Harry repeatedly over and over, trying to convince himself. 

_She couldn't really have...Could she?_


	2. Love and Luck

**Part Two**

The fall of the Dark Lord earlier on that day had been a sweet truth, but not as inevitable as the happening that would play out afterward. The inevitable confrontation that each of them had been brooding on for the past six months, and a grudge match that each of them had been building on for the past six years.

But Severus Snape always knew he wouldn't be invincible from the Potter boy's reign of luck forever; one simple silencing spell, one invisibility cloak, and his very own dark curse screamed into the freezing December air, and he had been undone.

He had been aware of the pain for precious few moments before his adrenaline kicked in and spread the numbness. The initial horror of seeing his own blood splatter over his hands did not last long either.

Letting out a horrible groan he turned his cheek to the cold, wet pavement and barely registered the sight of the boy who had felled him. There were two figures there now, they appeared to be in a struggle, but their argument was all lost to the ringing in his ears, and the furious pound of his shocked heart. Words did not matter to him anymore, it seemed.

With a shuddering breath Snape rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky with a distant expression. The edges of his vision were beginning to darken now, the sounds beginning to echo and fade, the rain falling steadily down, but not seeming to touch his cheeks. Everything had become dreamlike, detached, unimportant.

Perhaps it was a dream.

But it was unlike the usual ones he had. It was good, and peaceful, without any of the usual fear, or doubt, or hatred that normally haunted him. It was night time and he was quite alone, sat beneath a tree on a hilltop, looking calmly down at a pool of lights he recognised as his town of birth. As the leaves hissed gently the sound of someone singing was carried to him in the breeze. Whispering the same words, over and over, and over again in a soft, but urgent voice.

The song intrigued him, for a short while. But everything was becoming fainter, even the voice, and finally he lost interest altogether.

Beat by beat of his slowing heart, the numbness gradually claimed him.

Her kiss for the man she had secretly admired for so long was in vain; Hermione felt she now knew what was worse than living with the secret; living on after the secret did no longer matter. Her energy entirely exhausted, Hermione huddled up to Snape's body and lay her head on his motionless chest. She began to weep silently; her tears mixing with the raindrops and rolling freely down her cheek.

And Harry was suddenly exhausted too. His previous belligerence and fiery rage had all been doused out with the single sharp shock of seeing his friend embrace his fallen enemy. He stood over them both now like a silent, morose shadow, shoulders hunched, brow creased in bitter confusion, and dug his hands deep into his pockets.

And that was when he touched the smooth surface of a small glass bottle.

Felix Felicis.

Fingers closing slowly, Harry drew the bottle out and gazed at it. It was almost empty save for perhaps three or four drops of liquid.

He looked back down at the form of his friend lying crumpled and bedraggled on the pavement, her body heaving with silent sobs, and made a sudden, crazy decision.

A decision he would regret for his own sake, of course.

_But this was not for his own sake, this was for his friend._

Unseen and unnoticed by Hermione, Harry knelt down on the pavement, quietly removed the stopper from the bottle and dripped the remains of the potion into the Ex-Potion Master's frozen mouth.

That done, Harry shakingly stood up, turned and walked away as swiftly as he could, a distinctly steely expression on his face. If the potion wasn't too late to bring luck to the man, then he didn't want to be around to give the bastard an opportunity to fire any "lucky" curses back in his direction.


	3. The Patient

**A/N: As you've guessed - this is the SS/HG plotbunny that attacked me in August. To say it was most persistant would be an understatement... This fic is actually already finished, and I will post around two chapters a week until complete. Please let me know what you think:o)**

**O-o-O-o-O-o-O**

**Part 3**

There came a soft knock at the front door.

It was a sound that Hermione had been both dreading and looking forward to the past fortnight. She walked softly across the hallway and opened the door carefully.

"Hi," said Harry.

Hermione smiled and stepped back. "Hi. Come in."

She studied him for a moment. His black hair was still spiky and wild from riding his broom, and his cheeks had more colour in them than she had seen for months. He was almost like the Harry she used to know.

As if he guessed what she was thinking Harry smiled and put a hand up to flatten his hair down. "Er, I've been flying around a bit the past couple of days."

"You should fly more, it looks like it's doing you good."

Harry acknowledged her compliment and looked away for a moment. Hermione thought she noticed his eyes glance upwards at the stairs.

There was an awkward pause.

"Um…my parents are both in bed now, so I thought we could sit in the front room and chat. Do you want something to drink? I've got Muggle tea or coffee, lemonade, Butterbeer?" _Or something stronger,_ She felt tempted to add as an afterthought.

"Er, Butterbeer will do, thanks," he commented. _Another glance towards the stairs._

They seated themselves in the front room and sipped at their drinks. Harry sat stiffly on the sofa, while Hermione sat in the armchair opposite, perched tentatively on the edge of the seat cushion. It was Harry who tested the silence first.

"So... What happened then?"

The teacup in Hermione's hand shook ever so slightly. She took a brief sip and put it back down on the coffee table.

"I'm not one to believe in miracles, but…" she trailed off, a sense of quiet wonder in her voice. "He had stopped breathing, but when I put my head down his chest I discovered his heart was still beating, only very slowly and faintly; as happens with hypothermia. The freezing cold that night actually helped slow his metabolism, I think. I then scrambled around to find his wand, and managed to apparate him back here. If he had been anyone else I would have gone straight to St Mungos, but considering, well, you know..."

Hermione trailed off and watched as her friend looked down at his shoe, chewing agitatedly at his lip.

"Oh."

Hermione frowned at her friend's apparent lack of interest. "I just, well...an awful lot happened that night." She stopped and tried again. "Complete madness, hell, confusion... I don't blame you for doing what you did...really."

"I'm certain _he_ does," replied Harry flatly.

Hermione sighed. "Actually...I'm not certain; he's awake, but hasn't exactly spoken yet. _At all._"

Harry squinted at his friend over his bottle of Butterbeer. "What do you mean?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. It's strange. He first came round two days after the battle. But it was only a few minutes before he lost consciousness again. The next day he came round again. At first his eyes didn't focus on anything at all. I thought he might be blinded, or have brain damage. Over the next week or so he's gradually become more alert, but still hasn't said a word."

"So you researched up side effects, I guess?"

Hermione gave Harry a hopeless look. "I _did _try to research on the side effects of the curse, yes, but how can you possibly research something not documented, and you can hardly ask the spell's inventor, when he himself ...?"

Harry suddenly pretended to be very interested in the little gilt carriage clock on the mantelpiece, its tiny pendulum twisting dutifully back and forth. _He could think of a hundred spiteful reasons why Snape's apparent loss of voice would be an excellent outcome... _

"So...what's he doing apart from not speaking or reading?"

Hermione looked down at her teacup. "Taking potions. Lots of them. Staring at his food. Staring at the wall and being miserable. _Having nightmares..._"

Again, Harry found it difficult to sympathise. _What in Merlin's name did she expect from Severus fucking Snape? Tears of happiness and gratitude?_

"I don't expect you to care, of course," she commented dryly, almost reading his mind. "If Professor Dumbledore couldn't ever convince you of the man's better qualities then I can't see how I ever can."

The admission of this truth annoyed Harry slightly. "I care more than you think," he replied quickly. "Which is why _his_ being alive _isn't_ a miracle."

He felt Hermione's eyes rest heavily on him.

"I had a few drops of Felix Felicis left..." He shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. _"I just didn't want to see you so unhappy."_

_Not to say that sitting with that dark and miserable bundle of cynicism all day would be the holiday of a lifetime._

"Oh...Harry..."

Harry stared more intently at the carriage clock; it was the tone of voice she used when her eyes were filling with tears, and he would rather not witness it.

There was silence in the room for a few minutes before Hermione felt composed enough to speak again. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, watching Harry intently. He had turned slightly away from the window, and she could now see dark shadows quite clearly under his eyes. It set her thinking.

"Have you seen Ginny since...?"

Harry shook his head.

She let out a pained sigh. "You should. She needs you now, _more than ever._"

Harry let out a heavy sigh and shook his head again.

A wave of guilt washed over him. He didn't feel like replying; he didn't feel like he could yet. As much as he loved Ginny he doubted he would ever forgive himself for losing her brother. It was bad enough coming to see Hermione. _After all; if he had not turned his back at just the wrong moment, she might still have had a boyfriend..._

Again Harry pictured the hateful sneer on Bellatrix Lestrange's face as she finally smashed Ron to the ground; and then that same sneer change to shock as she was floored by a bright green flash of a killing curse.

_That was well timed as ever, Snape; always thirty seconds too late,_ thought Harry hatefully.

Hermione took a steadying breath; she knew exactly what route Harry's thoughts had trailed off to and a lump began to rise in her throat again. He had done something for her; she would definitely now try to do something in return for him; even if it meant facing the heartbroken Weasleys so soon.

"How about we go and see them together, tomorrow?"

Harry paled slightly but gave a ghost of a smile. "Well...if you want to, I guess."

Suddenly a light thud sounded from upstairs.

Hermione frowned in concern; Harry caught her expression and looked warily toward the door.

"Is that him?"

"Must be; I cast a soundproofing spell on my parents room at night in case he yells in his sleep while having a nightmare again. I don't want them to know he's here. It's rather odd, isn't it?" she added with a vague smile. "You and him are the only two people I know who do such a thing."

Harry growled something unintelligible and ill-tempered to himself. He stood up suddenly. "I'd better be going; heard there's snow on the way."

"In December?" she said in mock surprise. "Now that _is_ a miracle."

Despite his temper Harry couldn't help a small smile.

As he walked out of the room toward the front door Hermione called him back to hug him. He was slightly surprised, but even as his ears burned red with embarrassment he quickly found his mind feeling repulsed by the thought of another man she might have been hugging in a similar way earlier...

Harry tried not to think of what Ron would have had to say about the scene last week. Though perhaps he wouldn't have said anything; more to the point he would have probably vomited.

Yet, all prejudices aside...it did make a kind of twisted sense to hide him at the Grangers, he supposed. The last place the Ministry would probably look for a "Muggle-hating-wizard" would be in a Muggle's house. Especially one that had been protected with the Fidelis charm.

_But still: Hermione had been hiding a dark wizard in her parents' house, for two whole weeks? Did McGonagall or any of the Order members know? Should he tell someone? _

The whole set up was completely and utterly weird.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-OO-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-OO-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

After Harry had gone, Hermione went into the kitchen to make some tea. If he was awake then he might be interested in having some. She figured out from trail and error what he drank and what he didn't; trail and error had showed her that he preferred strong dark tea with little milk and no sugar.

His odd vow of silence was quite a bit of an obstacle when it came to things like that. Though she had to admit, _she wasn't quite sure what she would say if he did speak to her._

The awful truth be told; she had grown nervous, almost scared of him now. She never used to be previous to two weeks ago. _But ever since that night he was injured and her subsequent frantic behaviour..._

Hermione poured the milk into the tea-filled cups and watched absently as the small wisp of white swirled into the pool of darkness. She took a teaspoon to each cup and swirled it once, blending the milk with the tea, creating a rich, tranquil brown.

She frowned; it was his expressions that haunted her; it was as if he actually _mocking_ her for attempting to save his life.

_She also believed he must have guessed precisely what she felt in regards to him by now. And what she felt was a scary thought. It bothered her; it just wasn't logical, there was just no reason, no sense..._

But logical or not; she knew she'd never felt this way about anyone in her entire life.

Holding a cup in each hand, Hermione pushed open the kitchen door with her back and stepped out into the hallway to discover the slightly hunched, thin shadow of her former Professor propping himself up against the stair post, his black eyes staring directly at her.

"Miss Granger," he acknowledged hoarsely, with a slight curl of the lip.

In her total shock at finally being spoken to Hermione only just managed to keep hold of the cups.


	4. Comprehension

**Part Four**

For a precious few moments Hermione stood like the proverbial rabbit in headlights; those few hoarsely spoken words had put the situation into true context for her for the very first time. Standing before her dressed in his familiar black garb (which she had painstakingly cleaned and mended for him by spell) he was no longer a feverish, incommunicative invalid. Now, with his calculating expression fixed on her she could see exactly who he had been.

_And who he had been to her._

She could now more easily believe he was the man who had been a Professor of hers for six years, the man she had become accustomed to admiring from a safe, controlled distance down in the dungeons of Hogwarts. The man was Severus Snape, and he was now - thanks to her own actions - in the hallway of her childhood home, glaring her down with his mercilessly glittering black eyes.

"I made you tea, Sir," she just about managed.

Snape broke eye contact with her to stare down at the proffered cup. She imagined she saw a muscle in his jaw twitch, and he glanced back up at her with the slightest narrowing of his eyes.

"Where am I?" he hissed.

Hermione blinked, a faint flush colouring her cheeks.

"I well...The place I thought you would be safest; in a Muggle house under the Fidelis charm. My parent's house."  
She paused nervously. "If you're wondering; The Ministry thinks you are dead. No one but Harry and I know the truth. Nobody else knows you're here."

Snape's eyes flicked warily around the hallway, as if he didn't quite believe what she was saying. His body stiffened as his back pressed up against the stair post. She watched as his gaze returned to bore in to hers suspiciously.

"And why would you wish do such a stupid, idiotic thing, Miss Granger?"

His voice was quiet, chill, mistrustful, mocking, all the negativity he could muster hung in his delivery, his expression so stilled it was almost unnatural. A meeker young woman would have quailed under his glare, a less perceptive young woman would not have understood. A woman less in love would have given up hope entirely.

"Because I...could, Sir," she replied softly.

Feeling her knees might well begin to give way at any moment, Hermione turned away from his incredulous look and walked into the living room. She placed both cups of tea on the table and sat in a chair with her back to the door, her nerves feeling shot to pieces.

She wouldn't cry, _she wouldn't._

Merely hearing the sound of his voice again had sent a thrill of secret pleasure through her every nerve, but at the same time she had also felt icy terror grip her insides; for he was also the man who had killed at least two people - at least - in the past year, and was still down as a hunted criminal in the Ministry's eyes.

Unsurprisingly; for only Harry and Hermione had been there to witness one of Voldemort's masked followers suddenly and violently turn on his fellow Death Eaters. They were still the only ones that knew. As far as the Ministry assumed - due to Harry and Hermione's carefully constructed story; Death Eater Severus Snape had died from a Sectumsempra curse fired by Harry Potter's wand. Their explanation for the lack of a body had also been carefully thought out; as they had turned away, a masked Death Eater had suddenly appeared and disapperated with Snape's body before they could do a thing.

When they'd analysed Harry's wand and the inventor of the curse had been revealed, the Ministry Aurors and certain order members found it rather amusing that Dumbledore's killer had been hoist by his own petar. Nobody had much sympathy to spare for the demise of a turncoat, much less a miserable, murderous turncoat.

And since Voldemort had been defeated, nobody would even consider taking the victors' words at anything other than face value.

For the moment Snape's survival was hers and Harry's secret only. None of the other Order members suspected the truth was anything different: _why should they?_

But even as she knew what lay ahead now, and it terrified her, she felt she could overcome it. Ever since she was fourteen years old a part of her had always felt endlessly drawn to the man, whatever he had said to her. The same part of her that was now leaning further and further over the edge of a deep, black, icy well, with a increasingly helpless desire to see what was at the bottom of it.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

For a timeless period he had woken without thought. Darkness had greeted him, he did not consider his surroundings, where he was, who he was, how he felt. At first he had assumed he was dead, that this silence and darkness was actually death, but then by degrees he began to recognise shapes and sounds, even though he did not care about or register their significance.

As he grew gradually stronger his emotions first returned to him in the form of nightmares. Faces loomed, curses, hexes and inhuman shrieks filled the air. A gloomy, windowless dungeon he was trapped in flooded slowly with blood trickling out from the cracks in the stone walls, the level rising and rising until he awoke in horror, the salty, metallic taste of blood still strong in his mouth. In another he dreamed the Dark Lord had tricked him into making his own horcrux from killing Dumbledore, and concealed the object, so that he was unable to die no matter how many times he attempted to end his life. In this dream he always ended up finally throwing himself off a castle tower, and always awoke instead, clammy and feverish, the high, cold laugh of his dead Master still ringing in his ears.

He must have cried out after one of the nightmares, for as he awoke he was suddenly aware of somebody else being in the room with him. He had opened his eyes to sight of a young woman peering at him worriedly. It seeming such an unlikely happening he had dismissed it as part of the dream, yet as the days went by he came to realise that the young woman was separate to the dreams. He wasn't quite sure why, but her presence began to irritate him; he realised she was caring for him, and he resented that.

Then, one day when she entered the room his whole perception of things suddenly slid and clicked into place, it seemed as if a door had been opened out onto the outside world, and the young woman suddenly had an identity and a place in his dark and unsettling memories.

_And so, he realised with a grim and crushing horror, had he._

It would be a further few days until he spoke. In spite all the potions he was being given he still felt weary, and there were still annoyingly large gaps in his memory. And the woman - more accurately an eighteen year old girl - at once annoyed and baffled him. He wanted a full recollection of events before a confrontation with her: he hardly wanted to feel humiliated by a former student of his.

Particularly this former student: the return of his memories had given him much more information than he wished to know about her. In particular the realisation that she was likely the owner of the singing voice he had been repeatedly hearing in some of his dreams.

_Interfereing little witch. How dare she?_

A few evenings after this, as he was lying in bed staring blankly at the ceiling, Snape heard a quiet knock at the front door.

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was gone eleven at night.

His curiosity aroused enough for the first time in weeks, Snape made a great effort to get out of bed and get dressed. The cuts on his chest were minor now, but they still smarted when he moved. Even the effort of standing up and walking around made him tired and slightly out of breath.

Finally, when he had robes and wand, he moved toward the door. Opening it silently with a spell he stepped out onto the attic stairwell.

As he crept down the first set of stairs two voices carried up from the hallway; both he recognised, of course. One of them in particular made the bile rise up in his throat.

_The boy had tried to kill him._

Not that he was surprised about it; but still.

He eavesdropped on the rest of their conversation, and watched Potter leave and Granger retreat to the kitchen before he tackled the second set of stairs.

It was surprising how as little as a few weeks in bed weakened the muscles.

He reached the bottom and gave his aching back some support against the stair post. He was taking a cocktail of different potions already, be damned he was going to take any more. His muscles would just have to recover in their own time.

It was then that Granger pushed the door open. He raised his eyes to hers, and spoke; his unused voice sounding coarse and strange to his ears.

He watched with intrigue as Granger stopped dead, her eyes widening with shock. As he looked directly into her eyes he saw a startled reel of memories racing through her mind. Her arms began to tremble.

_Yet she had never seemed so frightened of him before._

She shakingly held out one of the teacups she was clutching and offered it to him. He felt a flash of annoyance.

"Where am I?"

Granger blushed and the teacup spilled slightly.

"The place I thought you would be safest; in a Muggle house under the Fidelis charm. My parent's house."  
She paused nervously. "The Ministry thinks you are dead. No one but me and Harry know the truth. Nobody else knows you're here."

_Now this he had not envisaged._

_The place I thought you would be safest..._ The sentence was spoken in earnest, yet somehow Severus did not believe it; could not believe it. It did not make any sense to him. _None of it did._

_It all had to be a trick. A conspiracy of some sort._

He drew himself up as tall as he could, ignoring the stabs of pain in his sides and back, and threw the most derisive question he could at her.

She flinched. And then - he saw something in her reaction, some emotion in her gaze that he had only ever witnessed other men receiving from women.

_And then he knew – he thought he finally knew why she was hiding him away from the Ministry._ Why the busybody of a teenager could have done such a stupid, rash and idiotic thing as to hide away a wanted criminal.

His reaction of course, was incredulity, mild horror; even fear. As she turned her back on him he stared after her frowning, a hundred waspish retorts ready to fall from his lips.

But somehow, just for that moment in time, not one did.


	5. A Raw Nerve

**Part 5**

Once upstairs, Snape sat on the bed and stared grimly at the wall.

Naturally he had not expected to survive the final battle; with a great deal of the Wizarding World after his sorry hide and a pardon out of the question he had considered, and had even come to accept that death would be a certain outcome. Despite being the Slytherin that he was, he had even prepared himself to die.

He had not counted on anyone to give him a reprieve, much less one of the Gryffindor students.

His expression darkened. _Two of the Gryffindor students._

But now he had survived the battle, he had to consider what other options he had. Granger clearly considered herself an ally, for reasons quite unsavoury to him. No matter how reckless and typical Gryffindor her actions, it was clear she thought much of him, and had made the first move.

His back muscles crying out for a rest, Snape lay back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling with a distinctly sour expression. He had insulted and ridiculed the girl for six whole years, took joy in insulting her friends at every turn, and was at a complete and utter loss to explain...

For how long had the girl been...?

No. That was wrong. Not since the age of fourteen surely? She wasn't even bothered that he was twenty years her senior?

Severus was just mortified hadn't realised her attraction when he was teaching her, or he may well have slipped her something to put her off him for good.

_But; you initially assumed she was a woman before you recognised who she was, didn't you?_ Replied a small, insistent voice in his head. _One of the brightest students you ever taught. You are no longer her professor either. And you can't deny she is..._

"...a Gryffindor and a mudblood," he interrupted himself with a low growl, eager to disrupt his chain of thought before it disturbed him too much.

Snape narrowed his eyes to a glare. _No, no , no_ - the overlying image he had in his head was of a shocked and tearful eleven-year-old Granger standing in the girls bathroom after the Troll attack in her first year. A girl.

A child.

Definitely no. It was completely and utterly out of the question.

There came a slight knock on the door, and the handle turned.

_Damn it, why didn't he think of putting some protective spells on the door?_

"Go away."

"You never said whether you wanted this tea or not," replied Hermione coolly, sweeping across the room to plonk the cup on his bedside cabinet. It appeared she had managed to acquire a new level of confidence from he knew not where. Perhaps from a potion. In any case Severus suspected she was still attempting to catch him off guard.

"Granger, _get out._ Preferably before you drive me to do something I may regret."

Snape groaned inwardly. _Oh, very poor choice of words Severus...had it really been so long since he had a verbal sparring session with a witch who actually didn't hate him?_

"Oh," replied Hermione innocently in response, still as cool as cucumber. "Then , could I ask exactly what sort of things I may drive you to regret doing, Sir?"

Snape clenched his teeth in irritation, but did not break eye contact with the ceiling. "As you are fully aware of my current employment situation, Miss Granger, I will assume you are being mocking by addressing me as Sir."

Hermione walked over to the curtains and parted them, peering outside into the garden. "If you believe I am being mocking by addressing you as Sir, then I can only assume that you are being mocking also, when you choose to address me as _Miss Granger._"

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with addressing you as Miss Granger, _Miss Granger._"

"Then there can be absolutely nothing wrong with me addressing you as Sir, _Sir._"

Snape hissed in frustration and clenched his fist. _The blasted girl was impossible._

Then, a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Haven't you got anything better to do with your time, girl? Drooling over an idiot Weasley, for example?" he hissed.

Hermione froze.

"But, of course, my knowledge of your fickle teenage world is rather out-of-date I'll admit, being out of touch with the teaching scene for many months now," he drawled. "Perhaps he left you for for someone a lot less insufferable?"

The door slammed loudly and Snape was thrown out of his reverie.

For a moment he smirked, triumphant, thinking he had hit a raw nerve in guessing correctly. But then the vaguest of nagging suspicions began to cloud his mind. Quite a bit of the battle was still vague in his memory. He distinctly remembered the Dark Lord's fall, but a lot of what happened after…

He turned his head towards a small pile of Daily Prophets Granger had saved for him for reading material. Wincing slightly from his wounds, he sat up and pulled the pile toward him.

It was in the third paper he found the small inclusion. Dated one week after the battle.

**In Loving Memory of Ronald Bilius Weasley  
(Ron)  
Much loved son to Arthur and Molly Weasley, brother to Percy, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George and Ginny Weasley, boyfriend of Hermione Granger, and close friend to Harry Potter.  
We love you so much Ron. You died gallantly so that others may live and we will never forget that.  
Service will be on 20th December in St Maud's Chapel, ** **2pm****. All welcome.**

Snape raised his eyebrows and blinked, still staring at the paper.

_Well...it certainly got her out of his room, at least._


	6. Feeling Conquers All

**Part 6**

Snape's unwittingly insensitive comments had been the straw that had finally broken the camel's back and Hermione had pestered him no more that night. After bursting out the front door in a frenzy and spending more than an hour trudging deserted streets, she finally returned and collapsed into bed, exhausted.

The next morning she didn't even bother checking on him, just grabbed a bit of toast off of her parent's breakfast table – much to their surprise - packed her wand and walked out the door. Hermione didn't want to hang about; it wasn't because was afraid of telling her parents that someone had upset her - no indeed. It was the fact they weren't even aware they had a house guest in the first place that was the bigger problem.

The paranoid part of her felt she was probably being extremely naive in leaving her parents alone with such a man, but just because he had upset her didn't mean she didn't trust him anymore.

He had, after all, upset her many a time with his hurtful comments. Harry too. Yet Snape had helped them both in the final battle, and bought Harry vital time, even if it had nearly proved to be the death of him.

If anything that had proved to her which side he was on.

Once outside she apparated, and reappeared down a narrow, deserted village lane somewhere in the rolling hills of the Herefordshire countryside. It had indeed snowed in the night, and there was a thin dusting of white over the fields and stone walls. In the near distance she could make out the chunky roof of a small, thatched cottage. This apparation was much more accurate than her last, and feeling distinctly pleased with herself Hermione walked along the lane toward the building. As she neared she spotted a dark shape swooping down from the crisp, blue morning sky. She recognised it at once.

"Hi Harry!" she yelled, giving him a wave.

The shape in the sky turned on his broom, slowed and returned the wave.

As she neared the cottage the latch to the garden gate clicked open to reveal a smiling Remus Lupin, wrapped up warmly in an old coat and scarf.

"So good to see you, Hermione," he welcomed.

"_Wotcha Hermione!_"

The teenager peered round her old Defence professor to see the grinning face of Nymphadora Tonks at the back door.

"Hi Tonks!" she smiled back.

There was a crunch of snow as Harry flew down and did a two-footed dismount from his broom. His green eyes sparkled as he neared his friend, his breath misting in the cold air.

"I think I might be a bit unfit for aerobatics at the moment!" he panted, grinning.

Hermione smiled and pulled him into a hug. She stepped back, her expression more serious. "Now, are you still set on going to see the crowd?"

Harry's grin wavered slightly, yet he still kept hold of Hermione's arm. "Yeah, don't worry. But can we go later this afternoon, as I think Remus and Tonks want us to stay for lunch?"

Hermione nodded smilingly, and together all four of them filtered back into the cottage to shut out the cold.

Remus had inherited the quaint little cottage from an elderly aunt, and being in the remote countryside, and having the bonus of a strong cellar it was perfect for a werewolf. Tonks had finally persuaded him that there were positive sides to having a relationship, and he had finally allowed her to move in with him just two months ago. As the four of them all sat around the small dining table in front of a crackling log fire, Hermione had to admit she had never seen Remus Lupin with such a healthy twinkle in his eye before. She was glad for him, yet deep inside she couldn't help feeling distinctly lonely and envious.

"Harry's been impressing us with a few aerial displays," remarked Tonks, her currently hazel brown eyes shining with mischief. "Perhaps we should try to get him a sponsor and get him to play for England sometime?"

"I'm not that good!" exclaimed Harry self-consciously.

"I must admit you're better than your father ever was," remarked Remus. "Sorry James, but it's true," he added, looking up at the ceiling with an apologetic smile.

"You could at least give it a try though, Harry," commented Hermione thoughtfully. "I should think if anyone deserves a bit of good luck now it's you."

Harry didn't reply and began to look quite sad.

"I don't think I'll be able to play a game of Quidditch again. Not without Ron there," he said quietly.

There were a few moments of silence.

"But Harry," ventured Remus gently. "Would Ron have wanted you to never play Quidditch again?"

Hermione put down her knife and fork. Her eyes were beginning to mist with tears, but she was trying her best to blink them back.

Harry let out a great sigh and also put his fork down on the plate. "I don't know whether I care at the moment," he muttered. "I just don't know. I kind of want to be an Auror still, but without finishing off my NEWTS, I can't be..."

"_C'mon Harry,_ we'll get the troupe together to support you, we'll be your personal cheerleading team!" said Tonks encouragingly, giving him a nudge. "_Give us a H...give us an A...give us an R, R, Y!_"

Harry gave a slight smile. "Well...I could think about it. But, it's...it's...I don't think I'm ready for that, just yet."

Most of those at the table managed to finish their lunch, all but Hermione, who had not lifted her cutlery since putting it down.

After lunch Harry helped Tonks with tidying in the kitchen, while Hermione and Remus sat in chairs by the fire, both staring distantly into the flames.

Suddenly Remus cleared his throat and spoke.

"You know if you ever need to talk about anything, or chat to someone who understands what it's like to lose close friends, you know you can always come to me..."

Hermione stared mournfully at the fire. "Thank you, Sir. _I mean...Remus,_" she whispered back.

The man smiled. "But, still addressing me as a professor, Hermione? My, that was how many years ago now?"

"It's a hard habit to break, you know," she replied softly, frowning at the fire and unwillingly thinking of Snape and the fiasco he kicked up the night before about it.

"Quite. I still have a hard time remembering to call Slughorn, Horace, you know. It just seems wrong, doesn't it?"

Hermione's mouth twisted into an awkward grimace. "Well…Yes."

They sat in silence for a little while longer, Remus seeming a little more content than Hermione, who just couldn't prevent her mind from thinking about Snape now it was on the subject – yet again.

_Why did she have to fancy such a heartless bastard?_

She couldn't even remember the moment when she had begun to feel anything for him, though she suspected it must have all started years, rather than months ago. When the news of Dumbledore's death reached her ears she had been struck dumb. She had cried herself bitterly to sleep without fully understanding the full reasons why. She didn't fully recognise then that part of her had felt torn by Snape's betrayal. Believing the pain she felt was solely due to the shock of Dumbledore's death she had gone into the final battle believing she hated Severus Snape, until of course she saw her friend turn and chase after him with vengeful murder in his eyes.

All was turned upside down in a single moment. But then they say a shocking experience can bond survivors together in a strong, inexplicable way. As if the extremes of emotion alone were enough to forge and meld a powerful relationship, without a single word being uttered.

Perhaps this was what had happened to her?

Hermione let out a weary sigh. If she had to fall for one of her professors, and survivors of the final battle, why couldn't it have been mild-mannered, gentle Remus Lupin?

_Love just couldn't be simple, could it?_

The floorboards creaked behind them as Harry and Tonks walked back in to the room.

"You ready to set off, Hermione? I'll be waiting outside."

Hermione looked round at her friend and gave a smile. "Give me a moment to get my coat on and I'll be with you."

A few minutes later, after Hermione had voiced her farewells and wrapped up well in coat and scarf, the two young magical teenagers decided to take to the skies on their brooms and fly in the direction of Ottery St Catchpole. Hermione would have preferred to apparate there and test her skills again, of course, but Harry insisted that despite the cold, he wanted to see the countryside all covered in snow.

For once Hermione gave in to her friend's whim, no matter how impractical she thought it.


End file.
